


Strays

by RussianWitch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AO3 FB 5000, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kitten, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: He stammers, unable to process the situation: having considered more than 5000 variables as he waited, John's coat meowing at him, had never occurred to Harold.





	Strays

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd  
> There was a challenge, there was also a comment about fic needing either smut or kittens.  
> For once I went with kittens.

December 1st, New York City

  
"Finch," Mr. Reese says unexpectedly, "we—have a situation."

Which coming from John, could mean anything from John having been grievously injured to having picked up a load of explosives he likes but isn't confident about being allowed to keep. 

"Should I send a car?" Harold is already running through the list of the nearest car companies as he asks, along with the contents of the first aid kits kept throughout the library, wondering what Reese has managed to do to himself this time. 

"Might be a good idea, one that doesn't ask questions," Reese answers distractedly, "Bear, nee!" Coming through muffled, like Reese doesn't mean for Harold to hear it. 

"The car will pick you up at the next intersection, ten minutes at the most," he texts the nearest car service he has on retainer and starting a program to follow the cab's progress along for the ride.

Resisting the urge to find a camera to see the condition John is in, is harder than usual with the limited information John gave him, but spying would accomplish precisely nothing with the man most of an hour away, so Harold makes himself focus on more practical things. By the time the alarm on the library doors is triggered, he has all the medical necessities set out, and his jacket well out of the way.

Bear not galloping up the stairs to greet him, has Harold wondering if he shouldn't have called one of the doctors they know instead. 

When he comes into the room, John's coat is buttoned up tight, and Bear is glued to his side. There is no sign of blood or redness that might indicate severe bruising will follow, in fact, John looks almost—amused. 

"Mr. Reese?" He balls his fists, resisting the urge to go over and do a hands-on check.

"Meow!"

A thin, piercing cry comes from the vicinity of John's collar. 

"Mr. Reese?!" Harold stutters, unable to process the situation.

Considering more than 5000 variables as he waited, John's coat meowing had never occurred to Harold. John winces opening the top button of the coat, just in time for another 'meow' to break free followed by a small clump of ginger fur. 

"Bear made a friend," Reese explains like that explains everything. Opening his coat further, the former spy deftly catching the kitten as it tries to make a break for it. The animal fits easily in the palm of his hand, its fur sticks out every which way, bright blue eyes darting from John to Harold, to Bear and back. 

"Got room for another stray, Finch?" Reese asks, laughter in his eyes as he offers the kitten up for inspection. Harold studies the small animal, who seems to be looking right back once it notices the attention, it's stubby tail waving in the air like an antenna. From the corner of his eye, he sees John watch them study each other, the corner of his mouth twitching. Distracted as he is by John's amusement, Harold misses the kitten launching itself off of John's hand.

He startles violently when the weight of his tie increases, losing his balance. 

"Careful, Harold," John says instantly at his side, a hand on Harold's elbow to steady him, the other going under the kitten's butt as it swings off of Harold's tie. 

Their hands tangle as Harold grabs for the animal trying to keep it from ruining his tie completely, catching John's hand instead, both of them needed to keep the kitten from escaping.

"This—is highly irregular," Harold grumbles, watching muscles in John's throat shift as he swallows, hating his inability to look up at John's face, "I know nothing about felines..."

John's hand is warm and solid on his, his thumb moving rhythmically, rubbing slowly across Harold's knuckles. "They can't be that hard, and this is a library, after all." John crowds closer, pushing Harold back until he's leaning against the table that holds all the medical supplies, "we can figure out a kitten."  

"I suppose Bear would be upset if we—gave it away?" Leaning back, he looks up at John who's actually smiling. Then down at Bear who's dancing around them anxiously. He'll have to apologize to the dog later, Harold thinks, something he'd read once about rivalry among siblings at the edge of his memory.  

"I think he's pretty invested," John agrees with a nod.

They are holding hands around the kitten, who gives up on struggling free and licks their fingers instead. 

"Perhaps—consulting the internet regarding its needs will be faster than searching through the shelves..." As much as Harold hates the idea of breaking the moment, he does need the information, and space to process the things which John's closeness does to him. To consider the tantalizing possibilities that become clearer with every stroke of John's thumb. 

"You can always ask on Facebook, lots of cat-people there," John suggests, grinning at the glare Harold can't suppress at the very idea of acquiring information from social media.

Somewhat regretfully, he extricates himself from both the cat and John, turning to his workstation.

"Cats need supplies, I'm sure Bear will be quite happy to babysit while you acquire them?" He asks waspishly.

"Sure, Harold," John says putting the kitten down on Bear's pillow. He doesn't bother to get the cat fur off his coat before heading out.

It doesn't escape Harold that John is still smiling as he descends into the subway, heading for the pet shop Harold has forwarded to his phone.  


End file.
